Starved
by Camelotpointe
Summary: After Gwaine's period of near-starvation during Morgana's brief rule of Camelot, he pushes himself too hard and takes longer to recover than anyone expects. Whump.
1. Chapter 1

Starved:

 _Summary: After Gwaine's period of near-starvation during Morgana's brief rule of Camelot, he takes longer to recover than anyone expects._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own 'Merlin'._

…

He was tossed roughly back into the cell, a small piece of mouldy bread thrown in after him.

"Enjoy it", the witch advised him, her voice silky smooth and filled with hate. "It might be the last meal you ever eat." With a last, twisted smirk, she turned and left.

He glared up at Morgana's soldiers, too weak to move from his position on the floor. They paid no attention to him, locking the cell door and walking away without a backwards glance. Gwaine slumped against the hard, cold wall of the cell, exhausted. Thiswas irony – a knight locked in the cells of his own kingdom, being forced to fight his enemy _by_ the enemy. But as long as there was food for Gaius and Elyan he was happy. He could see how weak the old man had become, and he knew that the physician expected to die here, but he would not let that happen.

Elyan picked up the piece of bread and slowly walked the few steps to where Gaius lay, almost motionless, on the cold stone slab that served as a bed. He held the piece of bread out to Gaius, trying to get him to take it, but the physician weakly attempted to wave him away.

"Save your food", he whispered, his voice low and tired. He struggled to get the words out. "If Gwaine is made to fight again, he'll need all the strength he can get."

Elyan looked over at the other knight in concern. Gwaine was slumped against the wall of the cell, too weak to support himself. If he was made to fight again there was a high chance he would die. Gwaine shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and Elyan gently placed the bread under Gaius' folded hands.

….

Elyan jumped to his feet as he heard the sound of swords clanging and the battle cries of both the Saxons and – from the sound of it – Camelot's soldiers. Gwaine looked up at him hopefully but was too weak to stand. Gaius lay still on the cell's single bed, a hard stone slab resting against one wall of the cold, dark cell.

The sounds of battle came closer, and both knights strained to see the fighters. There was another yell, and a group of the Camelot knights rushed into the crowded space of the dungeons, carrying a wave of Morgana's soldiers with them.

"About time", Gwaine grinned, stretching his hands through the bars of the cell. Percival thrust his sword through the metal circle that the keys were attached to and flicked it into Gwaine's waiting hands. The knights dispatched the remaining Saxons while Gwaine struggled to undo to door. Percival strode into the cell, helping Gwaine to his feet. He was surprised and worried by how heavily his friend had to lean on him to stand, but his anxiety was forgotten when he saw Gaius lying unmovingly on the stone slab that formed a bed. He walked forwards, bending over the physician and Leon moved toward the cell.

"You all right?" he asked. It was a general question but he directed it at Elyan, who seemed the strongest after his period of imprisonment.

"I've been locked up with Gwaine for a _week_ ", the dark knight replied jokingly, his accusing tone disputed by the grin that spread across his face. Leon smiled back; they would be alright.

….

Gwaine wove among the men, cutting down any that he could reach. Blood was pumping through his veins with a kind of fevered frenzy, his tiredness forgotten in the thrill of the fight. He ducked under a misdirected blow from one of the Saxons, plunging his sword into the man's stomach only to wrench it out and continue fighting. They were outnumbered at least four to one, but more and more Saxons were falling every minute, crushed by the sheer determination of Camelot's warriors.

The tip of a sword slashed his bare arm and the knight gave a grunt of pain as he pivoted, thrusting his sword into yet another Saxon. The pain from the cut seemed to act as a trigger, and all at once the weakness and exhaustion he had been fighting overwhelmed him. He stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to regain his footing. What little energy he had left was deteriorating rapidly, and he forced his way through the crowd of fighters, struggling to escape from the crowded hall. Blood was spilling from his arm at an alarming rate, and he knew that he needed to get out of there before he lost consciousness. Almost at the end of the hall, he found his path blocked by ten of the Saxons, their swords flashing furiously as they battled the Camelot knights. Gwaine saw Percival, sword in hand, along with two others, but he had no time to greet them. Blackness was pressing at the edges of his vision, and he knew he had only a short amount of time before he succumbed to it. Pushing desperately past the duelling warriors, he dashed down the next corridor, stumbling into a small recess where he sank onto the cool stone floor, his muscles turning lax and his breathing slowing. Leaning his head against the wall, he took a deep breath before allowing the blackness to drag him under.

… _._

 _Thanks for reading! If you liked this, please leave a review!_

 _Camelotpointe x_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi guys, I'm really sorry that it's been a while since an update. I DID intend to update this fairly frequently, but I've been struggling with some stuff and haven't really been writing. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, and I want to thank you for the lovely reviews I've received. This chapter pretty much sticks to what actually happens in the episode (4x13), but there will be lots of glorious Gwaine whump in the next few chapters, because he's too damn proud and stubborn to let people take care of him! (And because I, like many other fanfiction writers, enjoy hurting my favourite characters. Sorry not sorry.)_

 _Disclaimer: the characters aren't mine, and nor is any dialogue that you recognise._

… _._

Percival dashed down the corridor, searching desperately for his missing friend. He had only caught a glimpse of Gwaine as the dark-haired knight ran past him, but from what he had seen his friend did not look good. He was still bare-chested, and blood was running down his arm in a torrent of red. It was a testament to how bad the injury really was that Gwaine had not stayed to help them fight, as Percival knew that the knight would never abandon a friend in need if he had the choice.

The tall knight noticed a bare foot sticking out into the corridor from a small recess and hurried towards it. As he got nearer he saw Gwaine's unconscious form, slumped against the wall of the recess. His arm was still pulsing blood, and the fluid ran down the white wall in rivulets, pooling on the floor in a steadily growing puddle of red.

Percival drew in a breath, the air whistling between his teeth, and crouched beside his friend.

"Gwaine?" he asked quietly. "Gwaine?" The dark-haired knight did not stir. Percival glanced along the corridor, but it was deserted other than himself and Gwaine. He bit his lip, frowning in concentration, then, making up his mind, he slid one arm under the body of his unconscious friend and lifted him. Scanning the corridor once more, Percival began to run, hunched over Gwaine's body protectively.

…..

Arthur's blood pounded through his veins as they burst through the doors to the throne room. The unlikely group stopped short, taken aback by the sight of Morgana, oozing nonchalance, lounging upon her assumed throne. Helios planted by her side, but there were no other Saxons in the room.

He had expected the throne room to be heavily defended, but given Morgana's magic, he supposed that any weapons or soldiers were futile.

"Welcome, dear brother", the witch sneered, heavy lidded eyes meeting Arthur's own. He felt a chill as he met the harsh, merciless gaze of the woman he had once loved as a sister. Where was that Morgana now? Was his childhood friend and adolescent confidante hidden somewhere within the sadistic witch before him? Or had that woman been snuffed out – the first victim of the sorceress seated on his throne?

Morgana rose sinuously to her feet, approaching the man she had usurped.

"I apologise if you had a difficult reception. It's hard to know who to trust these days."

She stopped several paces from him, regarding him with her head tilted slightly, in much the same way as a cat would examine a mouse it had pinned. Arthur did his best to dispel that image from his brain as he slowly walked forward to meet his sister.

He raised the sword Merlin had led him to, palm open to show that he had no indication of attacking her. Her eyes followed him distrustfully as he sheathed the sword in his belt, the same crimson as the Pendragon coat of arms gleaming wetly on the blade.

They met in the centre of the hall, cold grey-green eyes boring into peaceful blue. Standing so close to Morgana, it was almost impossible to reconcile this filthy, hostile woman with the beautiful, kind-hearted maiden he had known.

"What happened to you, Morgana?" he asked sorrowfully. "I thought we were friends."

Their eyes remained locked together, and for a brief moment Arthur thought he glimpsed something of the old Morgana within, peering through a haze of pain and regret.

"As did I", she confessed softly, hurt clear in her voice. But as swiftly as she had appeared, the girl he had known was gone, replaced once more by the witch. Her eyes hardened as she spat:

"But alas, we were both wrong."

"You can't blame me for my father's sins", Arthur responded, hoping that she could see reason and he could avoid further bloodshed.

"It's a little late for that. You've made it perfectly clear how you feel about me and my kind", Morgana all but snarled. Her lips twitched upwards into a smirk as she added "You're not as different from Uther as you'd like to think."

"Neither are you", Arthur retaliated. Morgana drew back as though he had slapped her, shock and fear registering on her face for the briefest moment before her countenance smoothed once more, that same smirk that Arthur had come to hate playing at the edges of her lips.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, Arthur Pendragon. Not even Emrys can save you now."

Arthur drew his sword determinedly, all hopes of reasoning with his sister gone.

"Your blades cannot stop me!" Morgana laughed. Her eyes flashed with that deadly golden fire as she spoke in the language of the Old Religion:

"Hleap on bæc!"

Nothing happened.

….

Merlin bit his lip to keep from laughing at the expression on Morgana's face. He had been a little concerned that the enchantment he had placed on the doll would not hold, or Morgana would realise that she was defenceless and hide herself rather than facing them. But it had gone perfectly! He knew that he couldn't betray his identity as Emrys, but it was difficult not to laugh when Morgana realised that her main weapon had, apparently, deserted her. The others also seemed surprised, Arthur slightly wary, as if unsure whether Morgana was trying to trick them.

Glancing at the thug behind her anxiously Morgana took a deep breath, attempting to regain her composure, before trying again.

"Hleap on bæc!" Her green eyes flashed with the swirling gold light that signalled the use of magic – the only thing about her that retained the lightness of her former personality – the love that used to fill her and now was reduced to the grey, cold ashes of a dead fire. But nothing happened.

Arthur watched his sister curiously, hope beginning to spark in his heart. Morgana had never been a good actor, and the distress that she appeared to be in seemed real. When her spell had first failed, he had been confused and uncertain, worried that she was playing a trick on them or that her incantation would have hidden consequences. But it seemed that her magic had abandoned her at the opportune moment.

"Not so powerful now, my lady." His face was carefully blank, but his strength and authority rang out in his voice. Morgana's eyes widened, and for the first time she seemed truly afraid. Helios shifted, pulling the witch behind him, and she fled the throne room.

…

 _Thanks for reading! Sorry there wasn't as much Gwaine in this one, but it was necessary to cover this time period before going on to the stuff after the battle. Don't worry, there will be much more of our favourite knight in future chapters! And I will try to be quicker in updating – most of the next chapter is already written so it should hopefully be up within the week._


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi guys, hope you enjoy._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own 'Merlin'._

… _._

Percival deposited his friend roughly on the bed and quickly crossed the room to bolt the doors securely. The physician's chambers were at the other end of the castle, with far too many Saxons blocking their path, so he had instead carried Gwaine to the suite of one of the nobles who lived in the castle. He didn't know whose room it was, and he didn't much care, as long as it provided them with some temporary respite from the battle. Percival hurried across the room to a chest of drawers, wrenching one open and sifting frantically through its contents, trying to find something that would be useful in treating his friend's wound. His hand brushed against a smooth piece of white cloth and he yanked out a lady's nightdress. Ignoring any mild pangs of guilt, Percival grasped the hem and tore the garment into strips, hurrying back towards the bed where Gwaine still lay, unconscious.

A half-full pitcher of water remained on the bedside table, and Percival dipped one of the strips of cloth into it, wringing it out hurriedly before pressing it against the cut on his friend's arm, which was still sluggishly oozing blood. Gwaine twitched, and Percival glanced hopefully at his friend's face, but the other knight did not wake. He took a long strip of fabric and wrapped it several times around Gwaine's upper arm, tying it in a tight knot.

The immediate danger having been dealt with, Percival sat back slightly, sucking in a breath as he took in the full extent of his friend's injuries. Earlier, he had been too preoccupied with engaging the Saxons and then getting Gwaine to safety, but now he saw what had slipped his notice earlier. In addition to the gash on his arm, Gwaine's torso was littered with still-healing marks and a large discolouration covered several ribs – which, Percival was horrified to see, stood out clearly against the knight's pale skin. He looked as though he'd barely eaten in the week since Morgana had taken Camelot, and it was obvious from his other injuries that Morgana had not been content to simply let him remain in a cell. He looked as though he'd been beaten severely, and Percival felt a cold trickle of fear slide down his spine as it occurred to him that his friend's may have been tortured for information. It was entirely possible that Arthur was walking into a trap, or was already dead. Percival shook his head to clear the thought. He had faith in Arthur's abilities, and now he had to focus on the problems he could do something about, rather than those beyond his control. He took Gwaine's left hand in his and squeezed, hoping to draw a response.

"Gwaine? Can you hear me?" There was no reply. "Can you squeeze my hand?" He waited expectantly, but the only movement from his friend was the shallow rise and fall of his bared chest. Dropping Gwaine's hand back onto the crimson bedcovers, Percival stood and began to pace, worries flashing across his mind. He was no physician, and didn't know what more he could do for Gwaine. He had left Leon and the other knights to fight off the Saxons, and had no idea what their fate had been, nor that of his king. Arthur had prepared to find Morgana and reclaim the throne, but as much as he wanted to believe his king had been successful, Percival knew that Morgana was an extremely powerful sorceress, and magic could not be fought with blades. He slammed a fist into the chest of drawers as he paced past it for the third time, taking some small satisfaction from the throbbing of his knuckles. He needed to be out there, helping his comrades and friends.

"Percival?" the voice that came from the bed was low and hoarse, but the tall knight whirled about immediately to see Gwaine looking at him through half-closed eyes.

"Gwaine!" He bridged the distance between himself and the bed in three long strides, coming to a halt beside his friend.

"What happened?" the dark-haired knight asked, turning his head slightly to look up into Percival's eyes.

"You were wounded", Percival told him.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Gwaine half-chuckled, then winced in pain. "I meant the battle. Is it over? Are Arthur and M – argh!" he broke off with a grunt, dropping back onto the bed after having tried unsuccessfully to raise himself into a sitting position.

"Careful, now!" Percival slid one arm under Gwaine's back and helped lever him into a sitting position, sliding a pillow behind his back. Gwaine's face paled even with this small movement, but he grit his teeth determinedly until he was seated.

"Where are the others?" he asked in a low voice. Percival opened his mouth to reply, but froze as he heard footsteps in the corridor outside. Raising a finger to his lips in warning, he drew his sword and moved slowly towards the doorway. The door moved slightly as somebody tried to push it open.

"Hello?" a familiar voice called. "Anyone in there?"

"Leon?" Percival asked warily, not relaxing his stance.

"Percival?" the relief in Leon's voice was evident. "Open the door. Helios is dead, and Morgana has fled. We've won."

…..

 _I'm sorry that this took longer to post than I wanted, but I hope you liked it. Hope you are having a lovely day, wherever you are. Stay safe._

 _Camelotpointe. xx_


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